Quotes About Frustration

Explaining to an ignorant person is like knocking at the door of a deaf man.

It is quite obvious that you do not understand me, and in all probability, you never will.

I am so angry with myself because I cannot do what I should like to do, and at such a moment one feels as if one were lying bound hand and foot at the bottom of a deep dark well, utterly helpless.

It quite often makes me feel sad that painting's like a bad mistress one might have, who's always spending, spending and it's never enough.. [Letter 630, Arles, 23 June 1888]

pois me restam graves remorsos, difíceis de definir. Acho que esta foi a causa de eu ter gritado tanto nas crises, eu queria me defender e não conseguia mais

No entanto, por menos que diga, eu os irrito e eles me irritam

Today, Friday, I went there but could not see him. The intern and the attendant told me that after my wife left, he had had a terrible attack; he had a very bad night, and they had to put him in an isolated room. Since he has been locked in this room, he has eaten no food and utterly refused to talk. That is the exact state of your brother at present.

But in the course of four months 250 fr. must be deducted for the payment of colours and rent; well, then my work is hampered and obstructed to such an extent that I am at my wit's end, and I prefer to tell the fellows: Sell the whole lot! But let me work!

The rest certainly must seem damn bad." And the days when I bring home a study I say to myself - If it was like this every day, we might be able to get on; but the days when you come back empty-handed, and eat and sleep and spend money all the same, you don't think much of yourself, and you feel like a fool and a shirker and a good-for-nothing.

Ah, if only I could bring home to you how much more satisfaction you yourself might find, how much more you would be a friend to me if, instead of that frigid and unkind slighting and keeping me at a distance (only think of last summer, and the preceding summers!), you could at long last gain the conviction that this is not the right way.

You get angry whenever I expostulate with you, or rather you don't give a damn, and all the rest of it, which we know by now, and yet I believe a time will come when, of your own accord, you will come to the conclusion that you have been too weak to persevere in trying to help me regain some credit with people.

I can't remember my PIN number for my debit card or my Facebook password. The digital age sucks sometimes.

Just enough for a twelve-pack of beer, a pack of smokes, and a Bic lighter. Not exactly the breakfast of champions, but the perfect recipe for a man who is speedily losing his shit.

So many worthless people relying on French protection are enabled to sin against me with impunity, and nobody now feels that he has any duties toward me; everybody does as he pleases and is actuated by base and selfish motives. I have thus lost more than two-thirds of a fortune that was never very considerable. That is hard, but harder than everything else is my present condition.

Car horns honk way down on the street. Human life: honking, honking wanting everything to go our way.

She was tired of the flaming thoughts of discontent that kept her awake at night.

No one can predict at the outset where the life stream will lead, but those moments of fissure, rupture, diversion, and frustration require choice and can become springboards to opportunity.

Michel en a marre d'être seul. Alors il s'est amputé d'une partie de son cerveau, histoire de ne pas voir la fille comme elle était: une emmerdeuse de premier ordre.

Whenever I'm particularly frustrated by a problem in my life or in my garden, i meditate on the words of St. Paul in his letter to the Galations, "Be not deceived; God is not mocked; for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.

Once again, as it has with irregular regularity throughout my waking life, that sickening sense of language buried deep within comes coursing through arms, legs, chest, throat. If only I could make it reach the brain, the conversation with myself might perhaps begin.

Durante años me dije: "Por la mañana". Lo que, claro está, nunca ocurrió.

I hate women because they always know where things are.

This poem will never reach its destination.

turned away. It looked as though I lived in a family of dimwits. I